Millennial Mage

Tala looked around, taking in those who were around the arena. Some had obviously stopped to watch the whole encounter—and whatever was to come—while others merely seemed to be looking at the spectacle as they walked past. All told, there were quite a number of watchers now, though it was still less than fifty.

Still, that was a sizable number, considering those had simply gathered from having seen that the arena was in use as they had passed nearby.

As the elven Eskau took his place across from her, Tala decided to mess with the man a bit.

She pushed a bit of power into Flow, shifting it into the form of a glaive, the sparring scabbard changing shape with it.

Huh… I basically don’t even think about doing that to change Flow from a knife to a sword any more.

-Yeah. You just consider it ‘drawing Flow.’-

That made her happy for some reason, likely because it meant that the use of that power was becoming so ingrained.

Eskau Elnar frowned. “Is it more than the compact and expanded forms?”

She shrugged. “Seems so.”

“Interesting…” His eyes narrowed. “Shall we begin?”

“Same rules?” She put as much lack of concern in her voice as she could muster.

“Indeed.” He gave a slow nod, clearly already readying himself mentally for the clash.

“Then at your word.”

His eyebrows rose, her answer clearly throwing him off at least a bit. “Truly? You don’t wish a third party to call the start?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “No, thank you.”

“Very well.” He took a deep breath, settling into a comfortable stance that reminded Tala of one used by those favoring slender, thrusting weapons. “Begin.”

His statement was so level that Tala almost missed the fact that it was to signal the start of the fight, but even so, she wasn’t caught unaware.

Flow spun in a protective circle, even as Eskau Elnar thrust forward, his weapon lancing out to cover the ten feet between them in a blink.

Flow shattered the attacking spear of wood, knocking the elf’s hand up and away, even as she spun inward, crouching low to lick out with Flow’s sheathed tip once, twice in quick succession.

Each time her opponent shifted his lead foot, not quite able to fully evade, but still taking only a grazing touch from Flow.

She knew that he’d have been seriously wounded by those cuts outside of this clash—without the sheath on Flow—but she also didn’t mind having to work for her victory.

She was still advancing, closing the distance between them with steady determination.

His much shorter weapon—magical extension aside—made him seem to have the advantage in close quarters. That, coupled with her glaive, made the seemingly wise choice be for her to maintain distance and harry him to take advantage of her perceived longer reach.

That was what he expected, if his movements were any indication.

Instead, she blasted forward. She struck six times—twice for each step forward—Flow shifting to a sword for the second pair, and a knife for the final.

Eskau Elnar skillfully deflected the glaive strikes, refusing to make those a contest of strength or momentum. He parried the sword blows with his protian weapon, the wood subtly shifting shape to enforce his defense, creating ablative layers that were blasted off to disperse the energy, even as his eyes began to widen. Then, his arm exploded with branches that grew interweaving into a shield that took the first knife strike, only to explode under Flow’s sheath-enforced kinetic blast the second time her knife struck home.

He reflexively closed his eyes against the flying shrapnel, clearly having expected the shield to give way.

She should have had the same disadvantage, but her eyes were already closed, her threefold sight granting her all the vision that she needed.

Continuing the motion of her last knife thrust, she delivered a wicked chop kick to the outside of his thigh, connecting with her shin with what should have been bone-breaking force.

Arcanes—especially Eskau—are made of sterner stuff, however, and he merely grunted, even as the muscle spasmed, marginally throwing off his recovering footwork.

At the same time that her kick connected, however, his weapon had lashed out with vines covered by thorns that were more like blades than spikes, but they were dulled for the match.

It tore at Tala even as he ripped it back toward himself. Though it didn’t do any actual damage due to the blunted edges. Even so, it did pull her off balance, and if it had been sharp?

Given the magics on it? He’d have opened me in a dozen places.

-Yeah, that would be hard to heal from… wear armor if you actually ever fight him.-

Absolutely.

The simple fact that the obvious pain her kick had caused him hadn’t dropped him, backed up the idea that he was a very experienced fighter.

His weapon contacting the side of her head a moment later showed why he was an Eskau.

It was in the form of twisted, incredibly crooked branch, the pointed end extending far past where it should have reached, as a straight weapon.

That unexpected change in reach resulted in a hit that had her spitting out blood, even as she spun with the strike.

I’ve not fought Eskau in too long. I’m rusty on accounting for their more flexible weaponry. His seems to act like any plant he wants… or maybe that’s his concept?

-Other Eskau, but yeah, it could be either. You should knock him out to be sure.-

That made her smile. She finished her rotation to dissipate some of the power of the hit, dropping to one knee, and sweeping out with what had been her back leg.

The elf grunted even as the sweep to his already weakened leg took him to the ground.

Flow licked out, becoming a glaive to drive at his neck, but he managed to crunch up, out of the way, just in time to avoid taking a hit.

Tala ripped the weapon upward, but he was already rolling and twisting out of the way and away.

He got a hand under himself and launched upward even as Tala tore Flow into a sideways sweep, moving the weapon much faster and more maneuverable than any mundane could have managed.

In mid-air, turning violently from the momentum he’d already had from his roll, he was still able to thrust his stick out at her, the protian weapon briefly becoming a spear of wood once more that Tala shifted and flowed around.

This time, she was watching for the change of shape—as she should have been all along—and when it became a whip once more, and tried to crack around her leg on the return, she was able to kick off the ground with the targeted foot, avoiding the vine and spoiling the strike.

Eskau Elnar landed, taking several sweeping steps back while his weapon raked the ground between them, clearly acting to create distance between them.

Tala pushed Flow into the form of a glaive and leaned against it, her breathing light and easy, a contented smile on her face despite the remnants of blood on her lips.

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The elf gave the smallest of winces as he settled his weight on his left leg, regarding her with something akin to horrified fascination, his breath not heavy, but also not nearly as easy as hers. “That was well struck.”

She shrugged. “If we weren’t sparring, you’d have torn me wide open in return.”

He regarded her for a long moment before asking, “Who are you?”

She straightened, Flow becoming a sword as easily as Tala took her next breath and grinned. “Your opponent.”

Then, she flickered.

She appeared behind him, Flow already at his throat, but to her surprise, his weapon was between hers and his flesh, even though his eyes were wider than ever.

They exchanged eight quick strikes as he fought to reposition and recover what he’d lost from her unexpected change in position.

He was just getting his feet underneath him, when Tala flickered again.

This time, she landed a solid blow on his left elbow, the blow knocking the limb so hard—through imparted kinetic force—that his shoulder popped out of its socket with an almost sickening sound.

The elf’s face went white, but if anything, he became more skilled, the pain seeming to sharpen his focus.

Roots and branches began shooting out of the ground to aid him in his assault—and try to buy him time in his defense—as Tala continued to engage with him.

His strikes were faster and harder to knock off course, and his defense was more solid and resilient.

She almost asked the elf where this new well of fighting spirit had come from, but then she saw the answer for herself.

He was drawing lightly on his reserves—matching the output of the vestige in his weapon for the moment—the bit that he used coursing through his body and coming off him in waves as he burned it.

Before, he had been simply letting his naturally enhanced physiology be the basis of their clash. Now, he was actively augmenting himself to clash with her, rather than using the incoming power to refill his reserves for later use.

His efficiency and mastery of magic manipulation was incredible, leagues beyond her own ability in those areas.

I’m so glad I don’t have to develop that skill to the same extent as gateless.

-Eh, you’re not bad at it, but your inscriptions and natural magics are designed in the opposite direction on purpose.-

Indeed.

Her smile grew, and she fell more deeply into the Way of Flowing Blood.

On one level, she knew that she was cheating.

He wasn’t contesting her aura or authority, which she’d spread throughout the space. That allowed her to flicker around essentially at will, almost to the extent that Terry could—if with less finesse and rapidity—but if this had been a real fight, he likely wouldn’t have neglected that portion of the conflict.

Still, she felt herself breathing heavier, not specifically from exertion, but from the excitement of the fight.

His hits were yet harder still, but she simply moved around them, or changed their trajectory with precise deflections, rather than meeting them head on as she had at the start.

His defenses were better, but like a tidal wave, she simply crashed down inexorable upon them.

She flowed around the battlefield in a dance of death, only rendered non-lethal by the sparring sheath on Flow’s blade.

She took nicks and cuts here and there, mostly from shrapnel that she herself caused by shattering his ablative defenses.

That really speaks to the penetrative magics on his protian weapon…

She even felt her body overcoming several different toxins that originated from those minor wounds, but it was nothing that did more than make her feel more alive as it called more magic forth to counter the effects.

She should have been slowed by the various substances, and she took note—much to her surprise—that the toxicity was slowly ramping up each time it briefly infected her, as if he hadn’t wanted to accidently truly harm her with too large of a dose, and only after finding this avenue of attack utterly insufficient did he ramp it up, trying to find the level at which he would gain an advantage.

She doubted he would find it.

On his side, he’d gotten his arm back in its socket, but he was much worse for wear.

She’d connected solidly with nearly every part of him, save his head, but he wouldn’t go down. To his credit yet again, he’d taken the punishment like a towering oak, grunting or paling at the obvious pain that had been caused, but never bending, never yielding.

She was, of course, using power to augment herself too. She had been since the very beginning, but that’s one of the hallmarks of a gated versus a gateless conflict. She could use her power wantonly, she practically had to as it was always flowing through her. He, on the other hand, had to be more judicious, especially in such a power poor area.

Regardless, he was holding up splendidly, especially since he likely actually was Honored, not just pretending.

He would have trounced any Eskau she’d killed back in Platoiri, likely easier than she had at the time, but she wasn’t anywhere near how she had been back then.

And still he was only sipping at his power. His breathing had leveled out, even the small stream of power he was using semed to be enough to keep him in fighting form.

It was interesting, watching the magic move around him under so tight of control.

She could see redirected flicks where he would have used other abilities or magics if they were fighting for real—things that were likely more lethal in nature—but were inappropriate for the bout they were currently having.

Yeah, and I would just blast you and half the city apart with a dissolution beam.

-...Mistress Cae would be displeased if you were to try, and her authority here might actually be sufficient to shut you down if you did. With Master Kalfeir acting in concert? It absolutely would.-

…Fine. Spoilsport.

His style of fighting was far more wooden than hers.

Pun intended.

-Yeah, yeah.-

Even so, the solidity gave it a strength and inevitably that resulted in her flitting, flickering, and flowing around him as he remained mostly in place.

Finally, it clicked for her. He’s a defensive focused fighter. That’s why he’s the one with the young elf woman, whoever she is.

That gave Tala the insight she needed to really take the clash to the next level and—

That same elf woman called a halt to the fight.

Eskau Elnar jumped backward, making room, and Tala let him go. She was surprised at the interference, but she didn’t want to change the mostly friendly spar into a true clash.

The woman stepped forward. “I apologize, but I must ask that we stop here. I need my Eskau to have sufficient power to perform his duties.”

The Eskau bowed to her. “My apologies, my Pillar. I got carried away.”

She waved that away without comment, her eyes locked on Tala. “I am Pillar Cuivie of the House of the Awakening Woods. Though I have only recently succeeded my late mother, I carry weight in our burgeoning house. If you ever find yourself in need or want of work, we would gladly employ your services.”

Tala gave a shallow bow, instinctively giving the precise level of courtesy for an Eskau of a Major House acknowledging the Pillar of a lesser house. “Thank you for the kindness. I will keep it in mind.”

The two had both gained looks of deep scrutiny, but as it was little more than the depth and speed of the bow—and that was close enough to how any gated of her rank would have done it to be hard for outsiders to tell—they didn’t know anything, and thus, didn’t press.

To distract them, Tala gave a small smile. “I admit, it took me longer than I’d have liked to realize.”

That caused them both to pause even in the act of turning away. Eskau Elnar looked back toward her. “Oh?”

“You’re a defensive fighter. Your whole goal is to delay and protect. Your charge would have safely gotten away or been able to bring her own magics to bear to lethal effect.” She hesitated before nodding. “I think I lost that clash.” She gave a deeper bow, then, even if still not low enough to imply any subservience.

Eskau Elnar’s lips pulled up into a wry smile. “Your assessment may be correct, but that was not the terms of our match. I think it would be generous to grant me a tie, and the very fact that we had to stop so that I did not run low on power, reveals who the true winner is.”

She shrugged. “Then we’ll have to disagree. I would not be against our paths crossing again, Eskau, Pillar.”

And with that, she turned and left, only as she moved away, did it really sink in what this encounter had truly been.

This was the first time she’d interacted with any Eskau or Pillar since she’d fled Platoiri, since she’d left the House of Blood to believe her dead within the Doman-Imithe.

The very realization caused her to break out in a cold sweat, though she couldn’t place the exact emotions that she was feeling.

It was one thing to come to terms with herself still being a Eskau of the House of Blood, technically speaking, but actually acting the part in all but proclaiming herself?

It left her jittery and a bit overwhelmed. She stepped around a tree and willed herself into her sanctum, appearing beside Rane in a heap.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, laughing a bit hysterically even as tears came to her eyes.

Rane was there a moment later, arms wrapped around her, his quiet presence all she wanted—all she needed—for the time being.

She wasn’t still in Platoiri. She wasn’t still collared.

They could never collar her again, and she was nobody’s tool, not anymore, not ever again.

She stayed there for an unknown amount of time, Alat leaving her to process through her roiling emotions, her tumbling memories.

Alat could have imposed order on the whole thing for Tala, but that would have been worse in the long run. Tala needed to work through it on her own… well, on her own with her husband.

Rane just held her for a long time. Eventually he picked her up and simply carried her to their room where he laid her on the bed, to lay curled against him.

That, too, was exactly what she needed, and eventually, she drifted off into a secure sleep.